


until death did you part from the mess you made

by morzz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morzz/pseuds/morzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco still smiles but not often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	until death did you part from the mess you made

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas, jay!

Draco still smiles but not often.

* * *

 

The Malfoys don’t belong there. Not at the moment, not right now. So they simply leave the castle quietly. They’re just so tired. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco. They just don’t want to be bothered for a while.

They come home. It's dark and it smells of pine and wood, and the subtle lingering smell of blood and lives lost. Nobody talks at all. That night, Draco doesn't get called down for dinner. He sneaks down around midnight to find something to eat. For the first time ever, nothing was prepared and that's okay.

Draco tiptoes down his parents' bedroom. It's morning and Lucius is already in his study. He sees his mother lying with disheveled sheets around her. She looks pained and Draco just wants it all to go away. For some reason, he's eleven years old again. He climbs into the bed and lies on her stomach. (He used to this when he was a child. He would take naps and lie on her mother’s stomach. He would always hear her breathing, slow and steady.)

He starts crying, properly sobbing uncontrollably. And for once, he doesn't wipe the tears or try to suck it back in. She holds him and whispers, "I'm sorry," in his ear. He only replies, "I love you."

 

* * *

 

He does move out. He moves in with Blaise, in a flat in London. They're 18 years old.

Sometimes they play golf together. It's peaceful. (Blaise introduced him to it. For once, Draco doesn't think Muggle pastimes are silly.) He smiles for the first time in months.

 

* * *

 

"Its okay, Draco. It's no bother."

It's almost Christmas and he asks Pansy to go shopping with him. (He doesn't do this because he needs help. He only does this because he needs closure. He loves Pansy. Loved, maybe. But he doesn't feel what he felt back when they were sixteen.)

At the end of the day, when they're at her doorstep, he asks, "Do you still love me?" As to which she answers, "Of course. But really isn't the same anymore." He understands. They survived a war together.

 

* * *

 

It's a new year now. He goes to this outdoor cafe near this flat in Muggle London. He goes there to read sometimes. He likes some fiction books and some poetry. (Draco is a romantic. He just doesn’t try or look for anyone, anymore. He tries to write, too.) He always takes the seat overlooking the street.

 

* * *

 

He visits home, from time to time. The house is still dark, and it still smells of pine and wood. The smell of blood is obscured by closure, for once and for all. His father is in his study tonight. From what Draco has noticed. Lucius just sits there in his chair, drinking wine, contemplating. The man who had been most lively during the years former, had deteriorated into something a little less elegant. Lucius doesn’t even smile at all anymore.

This very night, Draco finds his Father, in his study, staring at the fire, drinking his wine, contemplating. Draco sits down at the next chair and he just wishes that they could talk. (He realizes that his father could never make up for the childhood he painfully never had. The one where they played Quittidich for fun and not for the practice and perfection. The one where he would tell him bedtime stories.)

Lucius breaks the silence first. “Draco… was I a good father? Did you- did you love me?”

The least he could do was to be honest. “Maybe… Father, I- I don’t know.”

And there was Lucius crying morosely. All through the years, Draco had never seen his father cry. They weren’t that kind of family that was loving and sentimental. They were calculating and rather cold. But right in front of the fire, Draco felt so warm, it didn’t really matter anymore. The Malfoys were broken, but he was going to piece them back.

So Draco holds his father into a hug, and whispers, “You know, Father, I don’t believe that the world is in black and white.”

 

* * *

 

He could feel his heart closing in. He kept trying to catch the air but he couldn't. This isn't the right time or place, _goddamn it._ But even before he could stand up and run away from the crowd, he feels a hand on his shoulder and he just starts bawling when he realizes it Harry Potter. Harry fucking Potter is fucking comforting him while he’s having a fucking panic attack in a public place. “Just breathe,” he says, and Draco feels rage he doesn’t know why. (But he knows subconsciously that he, Harry Potter, isn’t so bad. He’s saved his life a few times now. It really doesn’t matter anymore.) So Draco just breathes.

 

* * *

 

He recalls that he first “met” Astoria on a sunny day. At Diagon Alley, with an ice cream cone on his hand, strolling along. He remembers her during his time at Hogwarts and he's seen her around at parties. But they have never been acquainted or anything. It’s been two years since the war, and she’s newly graduated.

He “met” her on a sunny day at Diagon Alley, when he was just strolling around and she was looking for a job. “I’m actually an artist. I go to an art school in Muggle London,” she barely whispers, and Draco smiles because now he finally has someone to write about, to share it to. And Astoria finally has someone to paint, someone who has the most interesting scowls and wicked smirks.

 

* * *

 

He loves Scorpius. He’s a good father to him. They play Quidditch every Sunday with Astoria in the background, painting. Sometimes Harry’s kid comes along with them. He’s taught his child to be more open, to live and to love. He’s taught him to never let the world make you hard, to be care-free. Draco thinks he’s done a good job.

 

* * *

 

It’s calming to think that Draco smiles more and more now.


End file.
